Sleep Tight
by Rainnboots
Summary: Sam, concussed and confused, leans on his older brother Dean for understanding. Short, simple story of the bond between brothers.


**Author's Note:** Well it's been over a year since I've posted a new story up in the Supernatural category; hopefully I haven't lost my touch! I wrote 98% of this story probably two years ago, but truly finished it up just today. It's short and almost all lines of dialogue, set in season one. Hope you guys enjoy!

**Dislcaimer: **Any recognizable names and/or places are the property of their respective owners.

**Warnings:** Slight language.

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><p>He heaved him up under his arms, the weight all too familar. It was all in the feet of the man in front of him, gravity dragging him towards the earth.<p>

"Friggin' bitch," Dean growled to himself, gazing at the burning wendingo to his right. Sam incoherently slurred and attempted to attach himself to Dean.

"Damaned thig..." Sam mumbled.

"What?" asked Dean, nearly dragging him along in their trek to the car.

Sam coughed weakly into his neck, feet barely moving.

"Damned thing," he answered in a tired voice. Dean scoffed.

"You're telling me."

Sam slowly moved his head as they walked, eyebrows bunched together as he looked around.

"...Where are we?" asked Sam. "Dean?"

"The Rocky's."

"The where?"

"They're mountains,"

"The Rocky's?"

"Yes."

"Why're they called tha'?"

"I don't know, because they're rocky?"

"Why're we here?"

"Hunting a wendingo."

"A what?"

"A wendingo, Sam. Should be called fuglies, if you ask me."

Sam chuckled, snorting once as he slumped against Dean.

"Where are we again?" asked Sam.

"Colorado," said Dean.

"I though' we're in the Rocky's."

"The Rocky Moutains are in Colorado."

"_Oh_," said Sam, prolonging the word. "Did I know that?"

"You know everything, College Boy."

"Really?"

"Pretty much."

"How come?"

"What do you mean 'how come?' You just do, Sam. You're smart."

"I am?"

"Yes, very."

"That's good."

Dean chuckled.

"My head hurts," Sam groaned. "Why does my head hurt?"

"The wendingo decided to hammer some stumps into the ground," Dean explained, "with your head."

"My _head?_"

"Yep. Gave you a concussion, by the sound of you."

"A concussion... that's not good, right?"

"Well, it's not great."

"Am I gonna die?"

"No, you're not gonna die."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"How sure?"

"Really sure."

"Like _really_ sure-"

"Sam, you're not gonna die."

Dean shouldered Sam into the backseat, blood trailing down his face.

"Uh-oh," said Sam, wiping the blood off with his hand.

"Here, put this up on the cut," Dean stuck his hand into the glove compartment, pulling out a small bundle of napkins and gingerly pressing them against Sam's head. Carefully shutting the back door, he walked around and slid into the drivers seat.

"You okay back there, chief?" asked Dean.

"I feel sick," said Sam.

"Need me to pull over?"

Dean listened expectantly, eyes flickering towards the rear view mirror.

"Sam?"

"No, I'm okay."

"Don't even think about puking in my car, Sam."

"Can we not talk about throwing up?" Sam said queasily. "It's not helping. _God_ my head hurts."

"Here," said Dean, fumbling around in the glove compartment for a moment before pulling out a small Tylenol bottle. He found Sam's water bottle and tossed it back over the seat with the pills. "Take three of those; it should help after a while."

Sam popped the top off the bottle as the Impala drove over a particularly large dip in the road.

"Oh, crap," Sam mumbled, the sound of pills scattering against the seats. Dean chuckled to himself.

"You okay back there,?"

"'M fine." Sam gulped loudly, pressing down the lid of his water bottle. He groaned again, laying back against the seat, his legs bent up at the knee.

"Move your knees, Gargantua, I can't see out the rear-view."

"Shuddup."

Dean laughed again, tuning the radio and turning it up to a low rumble. "Try and get some rest, alright? We've got a long drive to Mississippi."

"'Kay."

There was a pause as Sam rustled around in the back seat, trying to get comfortable.

"Hey Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks."

Dean shifted in his chair. "For what?"

But Sam was already asleep. Dean smiled lightly to himself, gazing at Sam through the rear-view for a moment longer before turning his eyes back to the road.

"Sleep tight, Sammy."

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><p>Reviews? Anyone? Anyone? ...Bueller?<p> 


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